So last night I ended up going out to Taboo with Bruce La Bruce, who some of you might know as the director of "Otto, or Up With Dead People" and "L.A. Zombie" (he certainly has a type). It was one of those "I'm in Montreal, you're in Montreal, let's go watch naked guys dance onstage" kinda deals.
For the most part, a lot of it involved staring at said naked guys while poking fun at some of the weirder ones, including one guy who bore a disturbing resemblance to Rachel Maddow. He even had the eyeglasses. I wasn't sure whether he should be giving lap-dances or sitting behind a desk, cracking wise about health care reform and tax breaks. And there was one unfortunate soul who had on stripey socks that made it look like Tim Burton came on his feet.
At one point, one of the dancers there came up to do the scheduled "Hi, how are you, where are you from" spiel that I've given so many times before, and to be honest, found kind of cute. So I decided to cut him a break and take him in the back for a blowjob. I know that sounds kinda slutty, but in all fairness, he was actually really hot, and I'm practically the patron saint of cocksucking. I'm like what would happen if Mother Teresa went around giving people head instead of helping the poor and creating hospices for people with terminal illnesses. Seriously, statues will be erected in my honour.
...HA! Erected.
But in the back of the club, with eight inches of stripper cock pistoning in and out of my mouth like an engine that I realized something: I missed this. I missed working the pole, peeling onstage, taking guys outback and giving them lap dances that would make a rabbi eat pork. I missed stripping. When I was on the pole I was, as Billy Crudup put it in Almost Famous before diving off the roof of a house, a Golden God.
I realized I had been living a wholesome existence so long, I had forgotten how to have fun. I had become a homeboy; hell, I was three cats away from becoming either a crazy cat lady or a grade-a douchebag. Maybe it was the weight of the realization, or maybe it was the fact that I was starting to suffer from oxygen deprivation due to the eight inch cock down my throat, but I was having an epiphany.
Unfortunately, before I could delve further into this, he shot a load down my throat that could have drowned a regular man.
How's that for a religious experience?
Showing posts with label Stripping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Stripping. Show all posts
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Wherein I Kick Unemployment In Its Stupid FACE!
Guess who has two thumbs, a job, and only cried twice today?
That's right, I have a job again! Here's the breakdown of it all:
Short story: I went to Campus, auditioned, and now I'm a stripper again. Tits!
Long Story: Having grown tired of sitting around and moping in my apartment (and also having grown tired of that weird cigarette smell that never seems to go away) I decided to take the advice of some friends and go actually, you know, DO something before I wound up dead, or worse, emo. THE HORROR!
Anyway, I decided that if I was gonna have a hobby, I would need money. And if I was gonna have money, I would need a job. And if I was gonna have a job, I wanted it to involve as much nudity as humanly possible. It's kinda like an X-Rated version of "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" if you think about it.
So I decided to go for a walk down to Campus, one of the three gay strip clubs still open in Montreal. I think my last place of occupation (I refuse to say it's stupid, asshole name) opened up as another strip club, but quite frankly, that place sucks and I hope it burns down in some form of stupidity/Gerbilling-related incident. But I digress. Point is, Campus = Good, Old Place = Stupid rat-infested shithole.
I walked upstairs, asked for the manager, and after sitting at the bar for a couple minutes, gave him my oh so sterling credentials ("I danced at Adonis, do porn, and I have a penis. Oh, and I'm a team player."), he told me I had an audition. In ten minutes. It was gonna take a LOT more than ten minutes to make me look pretty.
While I waited in the wings waiting to be called on, something funny happened. My legs turned to pillars of Jell-O, my stomach began flipping about like a Cirque de Soleil performer on speed, and I began to impulsively chew on my lip like it was made of bacon. I had the same anxiety that I had from before. Two thoughts raced simultaneously in my head:
"I'm going to fucking die out there", and "It feels so good to be back doing what I love".
Then it got even weirder. I noticed that while there were a few guys from my previous place currently working the floor, the other guys there were, to say the least, exponentially beefier. As in, I would serve as a nice light snack, or perhaps an after-dinner mint, for most of them should they become hungry enough. My anxiety didn't get any worse, but it became something...different. Something I couldn't put my finger on. I was feeling a new form of self-doubt that I hadn't encountered. Where the crap had this one come from?
Before I could accurately describe my mysterious malaise, I was called onstage. I walked into the light, and to my horror, realized that there was no pole onstage. Nothing. It was just me and my gradually increasing lack of clothing. There was absolutely no way I was going to support a three minute strip tease on that alone, especially when the guy coming up looked like an SUV made of muscle.
Thankfully, it was at this point that my raging-yet-surpressed id took over. My motor skills became reflexes, each step, each sway of the hip, and each teasing caress an act entirely independent of higher cognitive functions. As a customer reached up with a $10 bill, I felt everything I felt before slip away with my shirt, jeans and undies. I was an unstoppable force of nature, a weapon of mass dick-functions.
I was one sexy bitch.
By the time the song ended, I could power a city grid with the energy I had, and still have enough to light up a 60 watt bulb. I walked off the stage and met with the manager, who told me "Come back Friday at three". With those three words, I had a job again. I had money again. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time, and it felt so fucking good.
That's right, I have a job again! Here's the breakdown of it all:Short story: I went to Campus, auditioned, and now I'm a stripper again. Tits!
Long Story: Having grown tired of sitting around and moping in my apartment (and also having grown tired of that weird cigarette smell that never seems to go away) I decided to take the advice of some friends and go actually, you know, DO something before I wound up dead, or worse, emo. THE HORROR!
Anyway, I decided that if I was gonna have a hobby, I would need money. And if I was gonna have money, I would need a job. And if I was gonna have a job, I wanted it to involve as much nudity as humanly possible. It's kinda like an X-Rated version of "If You Give A Mouse A Cookie" if you think about it.
So I decided to go for a walk down to Campus, one of the three gay strip clubs still open in Montreal. I think my last place of occupation (I refuse to say it's stupid, asshole name) opened up as another strip club, but quite frankly, that place sucks and I hope it burns down in some form of stupidity/Gerbilling-related incident. But I digress. Point is, Campus = Good, Old Place = Stupid rat-infested shithole.
I walked upstairs, asked for the manager, and after sitting at the bar for a couple minutes, gave him my oh so sterling credentials ("I danced at Adonis, do porn, and I have a penis. Oh, and I'm a team player."), he told me I had an audition. In ten minutes. It was gonna take a LOT more than ten minutes to make me look pretty.
While I waited in the wings waiting to be called on, something funny happened. My legs turned to pillars of Jell-O, my stomach began flipping about like a Cirque de Soleil performer on speed, and I began to impulsively chew on my lip like it was made of bacon. I had the same anxiety that I had from before. Two thoughts raced simultaneously in my head:
"I'm going to fucking die out there", and "It feels so good to be back doing what I love".
Then it got even weirder. I noticed that while there were a few guys from my previous place currently working the floor, the other guys there were, to say the least, exponentially beefier. As in, I would serve as a nice light snack, or perhaps an after-dinner mint, for most of them should they become hungry enough. My anxiety didn't get any worse, but it became something...different. Something I couldn't put my finger on. I was feeling a new form of self-doubt that I hadn't encountered. Where the crap had this one come from?
Before I could accurately describe my mysterious malaise, I was called onstage. I walked into the light, and to my horror, realized that there was no pole onstage. Nothing. It was just me and my gradually increasing lack of clothing. There was absolutely no way I was going to support a three minute strip tease on that alone, especially when the guy coming up looked like an SUV made of muscle.
Thankfully, it was at this point that my raging-yet-surpressed id took over. My motor skills became reflexes, each step, each sway of the hip, and each teasing caress an act entirely independent of higher cognitive functions. As a customer reached up with a $10 bill, I felt everything I felt before slip away with my shirt, jeans and undies. I was an unstoppable force of nature, a weapon of mass dick-functions.
I was one sexy bitch.
By the time the song ended, I could power a city grid with the energy I had, and still have enough to light up a 60 watt bulb. I walked off the stage and met with the manager, who told me "Come back Friday at three". With those three words, I had a job again. I had money again. I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time, and it felt so fucking good.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Everyone of You is Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Fired
Well have I got the be all end all shittiest firing story ever for you guys. Listen to this one.
A couple weeks ago, there was a rumour floating around that Adonis got bought up by the guy who used to own another strip club, Stock, and that he was gonna turn it into yet ANOTHER muscle bar, because really, two of those just ain't enough, huh? Anyways, I was basically told by the manager of Adonis that it wasn't true and to go along on my happy little way.
Cut to last night, where Adonis is throwing a nice little party for some site or something like that when he decides to call us all op on stage. So there we are, ten or so naked guys on stage when he suddenly turns all serious and drops this fine little bombshell on us.
He sold out and now we're all unemployed.
Yeah. Spiffy.
But it was all okay, because he gave us all shots and cheap-ass dollar store sunglasses.
Sure, I was basically fired on stage naked in front of a crowd of people, but hey, here's some watered-down booze and a cheap hunk of plastic for you. Don't let the door hit you on the way out!
So yeah, lucky me. I'm now looking down the barrel of an $850 apartment with absolutely no discernible way of paying for it right now. I'm sure I'll find another job soon, but really, what the fuck?
Oh, and just because God obviously hates me and enjoys watching me suffer, my car won't start now either. Gee, thanks a heap. Now are you gonna cut me a break now or do I have to put a goddamn bullet through my temporal lobe?
A couple weeks ago, there was a rumour floating around that Adonis got bought up by the guy who used to own another strip club, Stock, and that he was gonna turn it into yet ANOTHER muscle bar, because really, two of those just ain't enough, huh? Anyways, I was basically told by the manager of Adonis that it wasn't true and to go along on my happy little way.
Cut to last night, where Adonis is throwing a nice little party for some site or something like that when he decides to call us all op on stage. So there we are, ten or so naked guys on stage when he suddenly turns all serious and drops this fine little bombshell on us.
He sold out and now we're all unemployed.
Yeah. Spiffy.
But it was all okay, because he gave us all shots and cheap-ass dollar store sunglasses.
Sure, I was basically fired on stage naked in front of a crowd of people, but hey, here's some watered-down booze and a cheap hunk of plastic for you. Don't let the door hit you on the way out!
So yeah, lucky me. I'm now looking down the barrel of an $850 apartment with absolutely no discernible way of paying for it right now. I'm sure I'll find another job soon, but really, what the fuck?
Oh, and just because God obviously hates me and enjoys watching me suffer, my car won't start now either. Gee, thanks a heap. Now are you gonna cut me a break now or do I have to put a goddamn bullet through my temporal lobe?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
An Average Night at Adonis
www.nataliedee.com
A few things I've noticed while working at Adonis:
- All customers will try to hook up with you in the same basic way: First, they will ask you to go back to their place in broken English. You will say "No" without even having to think about it. He will completely disregard your response, and ask you again, going into great detail and using the most vulgar terms possible. You will say "No" again. Finally, they will offer you $100 to spend the night with them, despite the fact that you can make way more by having sex with someone less disgusting for far less time. You will say "No", then ditch their dumb ass. Thankfully, the music is usually loud enough that you can tell them to go fuck themselves in no uncertain terms without their knowledge.
- Despite telling them numerous times that their is no grabbing of the junk during lap dances, this will not stop customers from playing "Chicken" with your junk, seeing how far they can go before you brush off their perv-o mitts. No amount of signs are protestations will convince them to stop being such a friggin' douche.
- Drinking too much is a VERY bad idea, as doing so will only lead to you to do stupid shit and give your cell number to guys who don't seem to realize that your not answering calls means "Leave me the fuck alone, man skank, 'cause you're not stickin' your sausage in my hot pocket".
- All strip clubs apparently employ at least one charity case that makes all other dancers look better by comparison. You'll probably feel bad for thinking this, until you realize that literally EVERYONE else is thinking the EXACT SAME THING.
- The other dancers are total sweethearts, although they do have a rather strange habit of breaking out into song. In disturbingly good unison I might add. It treads the line between impressive and terrifying.
Monday, May 4, 2009
If The Mood Should Hit Ya
Once again, my apologies for lack of updating in this bitch. I swear, I'm gonna learn how to balance stripping and blogging. Eventually. For now, I'm a little busy with the last week of school rush that seems to happen this time of year.
Anyways, it's been a pretty productive weekend as far as the stripping goes. Needless to say, my technique has improved greatly, although to be fair, Stephen Hawking dances better than I do, so that's not exactly saying much. It also doesn't help that on Saturday, I had to work the floor with Pierre. Don't get me wrong, Pierre is a shitload of fun, but let's face it: Katy Perry has a better chance of being struck by lightning while winning an Oscar than I have of out-sexying Pierre. You ever tried following up Pierre Fitch on a stripper pole? It's like trying to follow up Foie Gras with a shit sandwich.
Anyways, he has introduced to some seriously cool people. For instance: Julien. You probably can't appreciate this, since I don't have a video on hand, but sweet holy jeebus can the guy ever dance. Seriously. He is to pole dancing what Jimi Hendrix was to Guitar-Playing/Passing out and choking to death on your own vomit. It's pretty fucking amazing. It's like watching Cirque Du Soleil, only less gay.
But the best was that he introduced me to Rene. Rene happens to be hot, funny, smart, and SANE. Oh, and his dick is fucking gigantic. Meeting someone like this in a strip club is like going down to the Sonic and seeing The Loch Ness Monster sucking down a Blue Coconut Slush. And the best part? He actually finds me attractive. ME.
Come to think of it, I might wanna reevaluate that sane part.
Anyways, for now, I'm gonna try not to get too excited. I won't go into details, but if past experience has taught me nothing, it's that get excited about stuff tends to lead to everything getting all fucked up. So for now, trying not to freak out with glee, which is VERY hard to do right now.
To play you out, here's Esthero with "If Tha Mood", which I'll be stripping to on Wednesday. Cheers!
Anyways, it's been a pretty productive weekend as far as the stripping goes. Needless to say, my technique has improved greatly, although to be fair, Stephen Hawking dances better than I do, so that's not exactly saying much. It also doesn't help that on Saturday, I had to work the floor with Pierre. Don't get me wrong, Pierre is a shitload of fun, but let's face it: Katy Perry has a better chance of being struck by lightning while winning an Oscar than I have of out-sexying Pierre. You ever tried following up Pierre Fitch on a stripper pole? It's like trying to follow up Foie Gras with a shit sandwich.
Anyways, he has introduced to some seriously cool people. For instance: Julien. You probably can't appreciate this, since I don't have a video on hand, but sweet holy jeebus can the guy ever dance. Seriously. He is to pole dancing what Jimi Hendrix was to Guitar-Playing/Passing out and choking to death on your own vomit. It's pretty fucking amazing. It's like watching Cirque Du Soleil, only less gay.
But the best was that he introduced me to Rene. Rene happens to be hot, funny, smart, and SANE. Oh, and his dick is fucking gigantic. Meeting someone like this in a strip club is like going down to the Sonic and seeing The Loch Ness Monster sucking down a Blue Coconut Slush. And the best part? He actually finds me attractive. ME.
Come to think of it, I might wanna reevaluate that sane part.
Anyways, for now, I'm gonna try not to get too excited. I won't go into details, but if past experience has taught me nothing, it's that get excited about stuff tends to lead to everything getting all fucked up. So for now, trying not to freak out with glee, which is VERY hard to do right now.
To play you out, here's Esthero with "If Tha Mood", which I'll be stripping to on Wednesday. Cheers!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Candy Boy
So, I finally managed to score a gig as a stripper. Sweet! Yeah, I know, it fucking took me long enough, huh? Well whatever, I finally got around to it, and that's what's important. Anybody who says otherwise has a stupid face.
Anyways, today was pretty much the job interview. You know how in most job interviews you come in, shake hands, discuss your resume, shit like that? Well, not quite. Instead, the interview involves you going up onstage and shaking your junk like an Etch-A-Sketch. Needless to say, for someone who's never danced before and has all the grace and rhythm of Bambi, this is like signing up for the Army and having someone throw an active grenade at you.
So, here's how the shit went down: The Dj called my name, which is now "Peter" (There's a reason behind this, which I'm sure will become apparent in the near future). I hauled ass on stage, hoping for a good song, when what blares on the speaker?
Katy fucking Perry's "I Kissed A Girl".
Moving beyond the fact that this is a terrible fucking song, it just seems wildly...I dunno, out of place for a gay strip club really. I tried not to think about it too much, since (A) People don't come to a strip club to ponder gender politics, and (B) the irony would have made my head explode, which I'm told is kind of a deal breaker on your first day.
Afterwards, I took a break to check out the room where the dancers get prepped, got a few questions answered, and realized just how badly my french sucks. Thus far, I'm the sole anglophone in the place (as far as I can tell), and my current mastery of the french language sucks like a fucking hoover. On the plus side, the guys were very sweet about my complete lack of intelligence, and they were all seriously friendly, welcoming, and of course, pretty fucking hot.
Of course, time came to do a second dance, this time to "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls. Not to worry, I'm apparently allowed to bring in some CDs of my own choosing, so I'll be sure to bring long some Lily Allen. Anyways, I was rushing to get on the stage, only to find my brand new 75% off Converse Sneaker snag the edge of the stage on my way up. Needless to say, I busted ass head first on stage. It was kinda noticeable. Thankfully, if there's one thing I learned, it's that people are far more forgiving when you wiggle your tuchus in their face.
Either way, I guess the bossman saw something in me, because I'll be back onstage Saturday from 8:15 to closing. So if you're in the Montreal area and have a penis (sorry, Ladies Night is Monday and Tuesdays), make your way down. I'll be the white boy who looks like he's about to pass out.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Hammer Is My Penis
Well, thanks to all for the support! It means a lot to me that you want me to take off my clothes professionally...*sniff*
Anyways, we've been devoid of an internet connection at this house for a while, so apologies on the sporadic posting. I do what I can.
Anyways, in order to train for future career, I've taken up kickboxing, my first class being tonight. I also went out and bought some minutes at a tanning salon, which with any luck, will turn my skin tone from sad little marshmallow to sexy, delicious smore.
It also occurred to me that we are devoid of $1 bills up here in Canada, instead opting for the completely fucking ridonkulous "Looney". Honestly, that's what we call it. The $2 coins are called (I shit you not) "Toonies". Wile this doesn't seem all that important, I have the ominous feeling that some drunk American will try to stick 'em in my Hot Pocket, and I'll have to rush off stage in order to crap out coinage like a busted Slot Machine. Although maybe I'm just being neurotic again. Who knows?
Anyways, I've come up with a fifteen song list I call The Strip List, to dance to. The list so far:
Metric - Dead Disco
Erykah Badu - Honey
Nine Inch Nails - Discipline
M.I.A. - $20
Atmosphere - You
Santogold - Lights Out
Kate Nash - Shit Song
MGMT - Electric Feel
Liz Phair - Fuck And Run
The Go! Team - Huddle Formation
Kings Of Leon - Sex On Fire
TV On The Radio - Wolf Like Me
Lily Allen - Oh My God
Lykke Li - I'm Good I'm Gone
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Pin
That's it for now. To play you out, here's Wolf Hudson (Yes Marra, he of the duct tape underwear) with "I Wanna Teabag You". Cheers!
Anyways, we've been devoid of an internet connection at this house for a while, so apologies on the sporadic posting. I do what I can.
Anyways, in order to train for future career, I've taken up kickboxing, my first class being tonight. I also went out and bought some minutes at a tanning salon, which with any luck, will turn my skin tone from sad little marshmallow to sexy, delicious smore.
It also occurred to me that we are devoid of $1 bills up here in Canada, instead opting for the completely fucking ridonkulous "Looney". Honestly, that's what we call it. The $2 coins are called (I shit you not) "Toonies". Wile this doesn't seem all that important, I have the ominous feeling that some drunk American will try to stick 'em in my Hot Pocket, and I'll have to rush off stage in order to crap out coinage like a busted Slot Machine. Although maybe I'm just being neurotic again. Who knows?
Anyways, I've come up with a fifteen song list I call The Strip List, to dance to. The list so far:
Metric - Dead Disco
Erykah Badu - Honey
Nine Inch Nails - Discipline
M.I.A. - $20
Atmosphere - You
Santogold - Lights Out
Kate Nash - Shit Song
MGMT - Electric Feel
Liz Phair - Fuck And Run
The Go! Team - Huddle Formation
Kings Of Leon - Sex On Fire
TV On The Radio - Wolf Like Me
Lily Allen - Oh My God
Lykke Li - I'm Good I'm Gone
Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Pin
That's it for now. To play you out, here's Wolf Hudson (Yes Marra, he of the duct tape underwear) with "I Wanna Teabag You". Cheers!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
